


The Many Perks of Murder

by shootingstarcipher



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Self-Harm, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: Dipper had lost count. Bill hadn’t.Dipper hated every minute of it. Bill loved every second.And no matter what, they were determined to do it again soon.





	The Many Perks of Murder

If revenge was sweet, then this was even better. And a fresh kill was always best served bloody and ice-cold, with a little pinch of salt. That’s what Bill had taught him anyway. Dipper could only ever see it that way in the heat of the moment, in that split second when Dipper Pines faded away in a flash and something else took over… Lust? Probably. A monster? Definitely.

Sometimes, in the moments of calm afterwards, he thought of Mabel. Who had she become? Where was she now? He could only hope that she occasionally thought of him too, and that she would never know what he had grown into. They would probably meet again, eventually. Bill said that they would and he always trusted what he said, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. But Bill was all he had left and besides, who else did he have in his life to trust?

He was alone in his room again, sprawled across the bed, flannel shirt unbuttoned and the door still locked from earlier that evening. It had been hours since Bill had left and over a week since their last outing. He was getting cravings again. Like a burning itch that refused to be scratched into submission. That’s why he hadn’t dared unlock the door. As long as he stayed like this, imprisoned in his own apartment, nothing could go wrong.

Until something was shoved through his letterbox, instantly disrupting his restless rumination.

Jolting upright, he stared straight ahead at the door, his body remaining fixed in place as he dug his claw-like fingernails into the mattress below. His right eye twitched. The thudding of footsteps against the carpeted floor of the hallway droned on as the intruder passed his front door and headed elsewhere – probably downstairs. Now that they were gone, Dipper leapt off the bed with the ferocity of a lion but the finesse of a gazelle and landed just in front of the door – right beside the cream-coloured envelope that had been shoved through the slot just seconds beforehand.

His name was written neatly across the front in pretty, dainty cursive handwriting: Mabel’s handwriting, if he was not mistaken. But one thing struck him as particularly odd. It was written in black ink – and black was an especially un-Mabel-like colour. The last time she’d sent him a letter she’d used pink ink and that was over a year ago; she’d been almost 17 at the time.

But he flipped it over and tore it open without giving it another moment’s thought. He read the letter carefully, making sure not to miss a single word. Who knew when he’d ever get the chance to read another one? Well, as he found out from the letter, there was every possibility that within a week’s time, he and his twin sister would come to meet again. He had hoped they would reunite in happier circumstances, but this was going to have to do.

He folded the letter up, slipped it back into its cream-coloured envelope and hid it away in a drawer by his bed, blinking back a few tears that were threatening to fall. He couldn’t let Bill see him like this – weak and emotional; it was everything Bill Cipher hated. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, he promised himself, turning his face away from the arm on which a bloody image of the demon was permanently carved. 

That was something Bill did often – mark him. Like an animal marking its territory. Because, in a way, Dipper knew that he was Bill’s territory, even if he hated the thought of it. And in reality, he really, really despised the idea of it, though the actual act of being marked by him was something neither of them seemed to be able to get enough of.

“Something’s not right about this,” a voice warned, strangely not coming from within his own head as it usually did and sounding suspiciously similar to Bill’s. His eyes flew open and he jerked his head forwards, the rest of his body following behind in one fluid movement as he sat upright and scanned his tiny apartment with darting eyes. 

Bill was closer to him than he’d expected – much closer. He was curled up on one of Dipper’s pillows, back against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest. Dipper frowned at the sight of him, instantly recognising the “upgrade” the demon’s form had received. He looked… human (well, except for the yellow glow of his eye and the dagger-like teeth displayed by the animalistic grin that Dipper had gotten used to over the last few years). “Why do you look like that?” the human asked warily, shuffling backwards until he was almost falling over the edge of the bed.

The demon threw back his head – which must have been a peculiar action for him to perform, seeing as usually had no head at all – and a cascade of golden hair swayed rhythmically from side to side, stealing Dipper’s attention momentarily. “Oh, Pine Tree… I thought it’d be a nice change,” the blond sneered, that all-too familiar tone of voice suggesting what it always did: that he had seen into Dipper’s mind yet again. “Now don’t go pretending you don’t like it,” he carried on, leaning closer to the human just to make him feel even more on edge than before.

Dipper swallowed, his nervousness visible to even the most unobservant, and evaded the question with a rather clumsy change of subject. “So, um, what’s wrong?” Bill looked at him blankly, clearly having forgotten the reason he was there. “You said something wasn’t right… about the letter, I think,” the human elaborated, gesturing towards the letter’s hiding place in the process.

Without warning, the blond’s face broke out into a grin and he beamed wildly, a mad gleam in his eye. “Right! Well, old Sixer isn’t actually… You know what? You’ll find out later, when we see your sister again! It’ll be a nice surprise for you to look forward to.”

Whilst Dipper couldn’t help thinking that nothing about Bill was ever “nice”, he remained in silent submission, making his head maintained control over the rest of him. Reason was everything, after all – everything Bill despised, that is.

Hours passed but it felt like seconds and suddenly the world had become enveloped in darkness, each beam of light slaughtered by the malice of the shadows that had crept in and taken over. Midnight. The dead of night. The witching hour, some may have called it. Dipper still didn’t believe in witches, though he probably should have, considering the fact that he was lying in bed with a demon. 

All the lights in his miniscule apartment were off. Bill was stretched out across the pillows, his head and feet hanging over the sides of the bed. Dipper was curled up in the centre, his shirt having now been removed and his hair reduced to a shabby mess. Something jabbed him in the chest. No… He was being kicked. With an irritated groan, he rolled over to face the blond and reluctantly forced one eye to open, although it did so hesitantly and languidly.

“Time to get up, Pine Tree,” Bill practically sang, eliciting another groan from the human. But the demon knew exactly how to respond to his unwillingness. “I’ll make it worth your while, kid; you know I will. But for the moment, you just have to trust me. We gotta deal?”

“Fine,” Dipper snapped before the blond could even think about offering him a formal deal like he so often tried to do. He knew first-hand where that would lead and had no intention of ever inflicting that sort of mistake on himself ever again. He would have preferred to have died, in fact. That was just how strongly he felt about the matter.

He dressed himself without question, though he knew the demon would have tried to help if he’d allowed him to. First, he started to pick out a clean shirt because the one he had been wearing earlier was now speckled with blood – courtesy of Bill Cipher’s obsession with biting and scratching – but Bill was having none of it. And it was much easier for everyone involved if he simply followed the blond’s orders and put his old shirt back on, even if it was somewhat bloodstained, than to argue with him until one of them finally gave up – and Bill was never going to give up first.

He didn’t bother asking where they were going. He didn’t need to know. All he needed was what Bill provided him with, and that was always produced by magic when they arrived at the scene. By the time they arrived, the nausea that had once tainted Dipper’s stomach had vanished, replaced with a spark of excitement and a primal hunger for blood.

He licked his lips eagerly as they trudged into the hotel foyer and smirked at the sight that was laid out in front of him. The receptionist had already been knocked out cold. Too bad, Dipper thought to himself in disappointment. He loved a good fight (but only when Bill was there to watch; otherwise it was no fun).

“That one’s not for you,” the demon growled sternly, eyeing the unconscious young man slumped over in his seat behind the welcome desk. “She’s upstairs. Follow.” He clicked his fingers once, snatching Dipper’s attention in an instant, and strode towards the lift just left of the desk with the brunet in tow. Dipper knew he was being treated like a lapdog and had initially detested it, but now found that there was something exhilarating about relinquishing control to such a hateful being and accepting his place as the submissive mortal he was.

Leadership and tyranny were what Bill was good at. Following orders was in Dipper’s blood. Their peculiar partnership, which in theory should not have worked out as well as it did, was perfect. Everything was perfect – at that moment in time.

The door opened onto the hallway of floor 4 and the two of them stepped out, each of them with a racing heart and burning blood. The plush crimson flooring made Dipper feel like royalty, though he suspected royalty was much less than what Bill was used to feeling like.

Room 702. Dipper felt his breathing hitch at the back of his throat and he trained his gaze on the door, standing still beside the blond and awaiting further instructions. None came. It felt as though they’d been stood there for minutes, although it couldn’t really have been more than a few seconds. Finally, Bill reached for his hand and it was if the door standing between Dipper and his next victim vanished for just a moment, a blink of an eye changing his surroundings dramatically.

The luxurious crimson carpet was immediately swapped for something much shabbier that would have scratched his feet if he had been barefoot, in a hideous dull green colour that failed completely to meet with the impression Dipper had had based on the rest of the hotel. The room was dimly lit and far smaller than he’d expected, the smaller than average double bed taking up most of the space.

But what Bill was staring at (and what the eagle-eyed mortal quickly spotted once his eyes had adjusted to the light) was the splatter of blood on the cream curtains beside the bed. There was even more blood on the bed – and no sign of the room’s occupant. Someone else had gotten there before them. Someone just as vicious as Bill Cipher’s mentality.


End file.
